I'm a murderer
by Jinx-neko
Summary: Saki Hanajima is always quiet a mysterious. No one really knows what she thinks about. In fruits basket they only give you a vague glimpse of what her past was like. Well, my friend decided to elaborate. Here is her story of Saki Hanajima. One-shot


Here is a random story about the kid Saki killed, or thought she killed, however you want to put it.

**Disclimer: I do not own Fruits Basket or this story. This is something my friend came up with.**

**Saki Hanajima**

_Once, I'd read a book where this girl writes a letter of confession to be read when she dies. I'm not entirely sure about the dying part, but the letter sounds like a good idea. It's not as gossipy as a diary or impersonal as a journal, but a simple manuscript on my life. So..._

I wasn't always a depressed, silent, and scary schoolgirl. In fact, my parents tell me I was quite a happy baby. I was always smiling and posing for pictures. I wore my hair in long, dark pigtails. I wore a lot of dresses. My favorite colors used to be pink and yellow. But all that changed. And if you live in the town of Mankato, you're probably part of the reason why.

It all started when I began going to kindergarten. I was very shy back then. I held my mother's hand until I was well into the classroom. The teacher, Miss Tanaka, was on the board writing down the alphabet, the Katakana one, along with the English. When she felt our presence she turned, her smile on full blast. Her smile wavered a bit when she saw me, but she walked over towards us.

"Hello. Welcome to room 2. Do you have any questions for me, especially ones about your child's education?" It took a while for my mom to answer. She wasn't very fluent Japanese. She was born in China but moved to Japan a few months before. Few Chinese and Japanese words are similar so she barely squeaks by in the language. I was pretty good at Japanese myself, and understood straight off. I'm not half-Chinese, half-Japanese-my mother was Chinese and my father's from Japan -but half-Chinese, half-Japanese-American. I was born in California. I came to China when I was two, came to Japan when I was four. My name is Saki Hanajima. I have dark eyes, from some unknown ancestor, but apart from that, I look like a stereotypical Asian: dark hair, almond eyes, ivory skin.

"Oh. I'd just like to talk to you for a bit," she'd said. She thrust her chin towards me. I pretended I wasn't listening. "About _her_." She steered Miss Tanaka towards the door. She talked very low. I didn't understand what they were saying until I heard the words, "strange" and "clothes." I was wearing mostly black. My paternal grandmother died a week before. I was just... showing respect. My mom was obviously explaining why I was wearing what I was wearing so that my teacher wouldn't think I was crazy. I shrugged and glanced around the room. It was brightly decorated, so sunny and cheery it gave me a headache. My eyes searched at all of the other students, holding the hands of their moms and their studying the competition, looking for friends, or just plain mischief. I wondered mildly what they were thinking. Suddenly, a great ache exploded in my forehead. Voices erupted all around me. I focused my mind on them one by one, letting them come unbidden into my mind.

_I like pink and blue and yellow and green and gray and black and..._, said one of the voices. It was monotonous and uncharacteristic, sounding as generic and non-gender as the rest, but still dripping with happy and cluelessness. I held my stomach to prevent myself from becoming sick.

_Why is my mom still talking to me? SHUT UP!_ I searched with my eyes until I found a likely host for the thought, a little girl on the far side of the room who was trying frantically to pull out of her mother's grasp without her mom noticing, while at the same time trying to look interested in whatever her mother was saying.

_Oh, why is that teacher a girl? The job is only right for a _boy_. They should fire her._

They began to come faster and faster as I stepped farther into the room. I clapped my hands over my ears and swallowed a scream. The voices were echoing in my head, steadily growing louder, as if someone had taken a remote and was holding down the volume button. I squeezed my eyes shut and thought of a wall. I took a simple and incorrect thought, like "The sky is green," and made that into a brick. I kept thinking of nonsense and creating a large dam in my mind, shutting out the onslaught of thoughts and turning back to my mother and teacher. The dam had a small leak, but a controllable one. I could focus on one person and no exactly what they were thinking. I entertained my self for a wile, before mentally repairing the leak with, "My favorite color is polka-dot." When my mother and teacher finished talking, they walked back towards me. I pretended that I hadn't just been reading the other children's thoughts.

"Alright, Hanajima," Miss Tanaka had said. She smiled her sixty-watt smile again and let her voice drip with cheeriness. "Why don't you go and find a seat." It wasn't a question, but a statement. I obediently walked over and sat in the nearest chair.

By fifth grade, every single one of my uncles and aunts died, along with my grandfathers. The color black grew comfortable to me. I began wearing black all the time, not just at the time of someone's death. I was hiding, getting lost between black and bright, dark and light. And finally, someone noticed.

That someone was Shin'oku Song-Hon, the most popular boy in my classroom. It was about the thirtieth day of fifth grade when he passed a note around the class. I didn't notice at first, concentrating on practicing my characters. But when various boys and girls began pointing and sneering at me, I became partially interested. So when the boy I sat next to got the note, I got out of my chair and took it from him. It was relatively easy, because he hadn't been thinking. The class quieted down when they saw I had the note. I should've known something was wrong then, but I didn't. I glanced at the teacher. She was reading a magazine. Shrugging, I unfolded the note, hearing every crinkle with the room being so quiet. I read it silently to myself:

Everybody in Room 34:

Did yo notice that Saike wheres alll black. That's a EVIL color. Witches ar EVIL. So Saike is a EVIL WITCH! Watch out for Saike Hanajimma!

Shin'oku hadn't signed his name, but people could tell because of the sloppy handwriting, red ink, and atrocious spelling. He couldn't even spell my name right. Scowling and growling, I ripped the note to shreds, letting the pieces of paper fall on the floor. Taking a slow glance at the teacher, who was still reading her magazine, I came to Shin'oku's desk. Kids behind me began to laugh and mutter things like, "Oooh, you better watch out, Shin'oku," or, "Watch out for Saki Hanajima!" I ignored them. Unfortunately, concentrating on ignoring the real voices made the dam on the mental ones crack. The thoughts that pulsed through my brain contradicted the voices.

_Shin'oku is so mean._

_Witches don't even exist. Who's he trying to fool?_

_Why does he pick on her so much? She never does anything to anyone._

Slightly mollified by the thoughts I grew confident and walked over to Shin'oku's desk. Placing my palms on his desk, tapping my black fingernails impatiently, I pulled my face close to his to speak softly so that none of the other students straining to hear couldn't. "Apologize."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hanajima." His lopsided grin gave him away. "I'm trying to do my work."

"Apologize," I repeated, my fingers tapping a funeral march on his desk. I hummed it softly. A red flush appeared at his neck as he realized what I was humming, but he stayed defiant.

"No. I have nothing to apologize for."

"Okay." I straightened up and began to back away, taking tentative steps. Shin'oku grinned at his buddies, obviously boasting about how I wouldn't do a thing. My tight fist connected with his nose, and his nostrils began to spout blood. I grasped his neck and threw him to the floor. Normally, I probably wouldn't have been able to do it. But when I got angry, adrenaline pulsed through my body, I felt as if I could do anything. The class went into an uproar. Four of Shin'oku's friends pulled him to his feet, while other students were hanging back. I distinctly heard them say, in my mind and with my ears, "Shin'oku got beat up by a girl!"

Unfortunately, our teacher wasn't deaf. It only took seconds for her to realize what was what. I was breathing hard and giving Shin'oku the evil eye, while he, of course, was covered in blood. She grasped us both by the elbows and frog-marched us to the front office, where she forced us to sit on the bench. As soon as she left, I stood up and leaned against the wall across the hall. Even though I had to stand, it was better than sitting next to him. He tried to nurse is nose. "_Kono aitsu_!! You creep!" he hissed, when the blood didn't stop pouring. His face was turning pale.

I glared at him. "What hospital are you going to? I'll be the first to sign you cast."

"Cast?"

"For when I break your arm, _baka_."

He stood as well and fixed me with a glare. "You're lucky you're a girl, or I'd whoop your butt."

"You're a girl too!" I shouted.

"You're walking on a thin line, girl. Someone's going to have to discipline you."

"Duh, _baka_, that's why we're here at the _office_."

"That is seriously _it_! I'm this close to going over there and beating you unconscious!"

"Come over here, and I'll black your eyes!" I snapped, sinking to the floor with my fists clenched. "Don't start with me. I'm not in the mood."

"You seemed fine with it was when I wasn't expecting it!" he replied.

Before I could reply, the office door opened. The short and surly secretary came out, her hair bound in a silver bun resting on her neck. "The principal will see you now." After she looked at us with an expression of utter loathing on her face, she stepped away from the doorway so we could come inside. We glared at each other for a moment, and then we marched to the doorway. I pushed him aside so I could come in first. The secretary didn't stop me, so I think she didn't really care. The space we entered into was more like an antechamber, a gray, drab, and dull antechamber, and was strangely quiet. We both were reluctant to break the choking silence. The window was polished crystal clear, so we could see the gray outside world, a blur of rain and wet concrete. We moved towards the principal's office, our steps making small taps on the thin carpet. It was little more than a closet adjoined to the antechamber. That time, I was the one shoved to the side. Shin'oku pushed through and sat in the chair closest to the door. I followed more slowly, summoning my eyes to start crying on command. I stared at my shoes and sat straight-backed on the wooden chair.

Sometimes, looking like a small, helpless girl lowers your punishment. The principal was a small man with graying hair and thick glasses, with squinty gray eyes. He looked like a baby trapped behind a desk.

"Well?" he boomed, and I jumped. His voice was way too big for him.

"He wrote a bad note-"

"She punched me-"

"All the kids laughed-"

"I'm still bleeding, look-"

We continued like that for a long time, nearly tem minutes. The principal apparently understood it, for he nodded his head and said, "I'm sure neither of you meant what you did." Shin'oku and I looked at each other and sneered. Oh, yeah, we meant it.

"And," the principal continued, obviously missing our exchanged looks, "you both are first offenders. So I'll let you off with an apology to each other and a warning."

"Apologize?" Shin'oku and I cried at the same time.

"Yes, apologize."

"I told him to apologize in the classroom," I whined." And he refused."

"What? What are you talking bout? You never said that!"

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"QUIET!" We glared at each other for a moment, and then slumped in our, chairs folding our arm and scowling at the floor. "You will apologize, or you'll get suspension." I turned my head to the side, refusing to look at Shin'oku. I heard him do the same. Finally, we both grumbled, "Sorry," and scowled at our respective walls.

"Excuse me? I didn't hear what you said," the principal said.

"Should it really matter whether you heard us or not?" Shin'oku asked. "I heard her, she heard me, that's who we're apologizing to."

"Repeat your apologies."

"SORRY!" we shouted. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, as close to a smile as he would ever get. Otherwise, he was unperturbed. "For what?"

"I don't know," I cried. I could hear the amusement in the principal's mind. "You're the one that told us to!"

"For bloodying your friend's nose."

"Sorry for bopping your nose," I said to Shin'oku through gritted teeth. I glared, making sure that he understood that, no matter what the principal said, we weren't friends.

"And you, son." The principle said, and turned towards Shin'oku. "You apologize for hurting your friend's feelings enough so that she'd want to punch your nose."

"Sorry for hurting your feelings," he said. "If you had feelings to hurt," he muttered, so the principal wouldn't hear.

"Bite me," I murmured back.

"You are free to go." I had the satisfaction of shoving Shin'oku so I could be first.

The next day, people weren't talking. It seemed Shin'oku's friends-or goons or henchmen or whatever-had told everyone that if they talked about Shin'oku's bloody nose, they'd beat them up. Even through my mental wall, I could feel the laughter in everyone's mind, including the goons. At lunch, I went to a small table in the corner, deep in the shadows, where I continued to read my book, _1313 Dead End Drive_. I stirred the broth around, too interested in my book to be hungry. A shadow blocked out the sliver of light I was reading by. I looked up, and glared pointedly at Biru, Shin'oku's best friend and probably the only one who wasn't laughing.

"What do you want, Baka Biru," I hissed, memorizing my page number and shutting my book. "Why don't you go eat the sludge that your mother makes for you?"

"Don't talk about my mother!" he said, his voice clueless and dumb.

"I wasn't talking about your mother, only her food." I'd taken notice of the rest of the goons that were crowded behind and beside him, but what really surprised me was Shin'oku coming around them all, his hands clamped behind his back and a cocky grin on his face.

He looked at my bowl. "You aren't hungry?" His goons laughed at some private joke.

I tossed my hair over my shoulder and curled my lips into a sneer. "What's it to you?"

"I have a treat for you." He held up his hands, and I recoiled at the sight of a wrinkled dead salamander.

"I'm _not_ going to eat that."

"Are you sure?" Shin'oku grinned. He held the salamander up by its tail, and its glossy blue eyes stared into mine. "My older sister said witches love to eat salamanders. It's too bad it's not alive, isn't it? I'm sure you'll like it anyway." They seemed to have been rehearsing their cues, for as soon as 'anyway' had left Shin'oku's lips, Biru and Hiruhoshi had gripped my arms and lifted me into the air. I kicked and squirmed, but a constriction in my throat prevented me from screaming. More henchmen rushed at me to grab my struggling body. One forced my mouth open. I stopped struggling, and stared in horror as Shin'oku walked slowly towards me, swinging the lizard in his hand. I hated him so much at that point, as I felt his glee pour into my skull as he stepped closer.

I hated him so much that I began to pull. My mind was like a fishing pole, fishing at his thoughts. I grabbed one and pulled, tugging with my mind. I grabbed more with my mind, pulling at them all with my mind. Shin'oku's face contorted in pain as I began to take his conscious thought, his ability to think, his IQ. He dropped the salamander and feel to his knees, gripping his ears and screaming. Students in the lunchroom turned towards our corner. They gasped and ran towards me, able to see me, as passive as a butterfly, being held tightly by a pack of bullies. And, of course, Shin'oku twitching on the ground. As I pulled, I also pushed, shoving one of my own thoughts into his brain as a screaming mantra in his head: "I HATE YOU, SHIN'OKU!!" It pulsed through his brain, so I wasn't just deleting his thoughts, I was replacing them. Soon, he was screaming the words themselves. People backed away. I then pulled at everything, not bothering with just his thoughts, but his memories and feeling. I didn't replace anymore, but allowed him to keep screaming.

I pulled at his entire mind at the same time.

His screams increased. Students looked on, scared and confused.

I kept pulling.

Suddenly, his screams stopped. His eyes went blank and his mouth dropped open, his hands feel from his ears to his sides. I saw the look of the insane before he fell sideways onto the dirty floor. The goons let me go, unsure of what to do. They hadn't rehearsed _that_. Still, I continued to probe Shin'oku's mind, before being satisfied I'd taken everything.

_Everything..._

I gasped and stepped tentatively forward when I realized what my blind rage had produced. I'd taken his ability to move, the ability to sense, the ability see...I'd taken the ability for his lungs to expand with air or his heart to beat. I knelt beside him and held my hand on his still chest. I blinked and a single tear fell on his cheek.

I'd killed him.

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I know, kind of shocking and depressing. But hey, blind rage can make anyone do anything. This first chapter was made by my friend but if you want I can create more chapters. That's you're choice though. One review is all it takes.

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